Memento
by somaticjester
Summary: Rachel Laeddis saw the world differently unlike any other, and in her last days, she recounts how she dreamed, questioned, and watched her family slowly consumed by madness.  POV/Rated T for some themes
1. A Bedtime Story

**a/n: **I'm currently hooked in the fandom of Shutter Island (after being wowed by its awesomeness, both book and the movie) so I decided to write a tribute story to one of my favorite characters: _Rachel Laeddis_. Take note, this might look like an AU since this is told in Rachel's POV (Andrew's going to have to lie low for a while) but it will definitely help you understand this story better if you _read_ the book and _watched _the movie. 'Nuff said now, enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **C'mon you know the drill: I DO NOT OWN SHUTTER ISLAND (MOVIE/BOOK). If I did, then that cute, little girl Rachel wouldn't have died in the first place.

**Synopsis: **Rachel Laeddis saw the world differently unlike any other, and in her last days she recounts how she dreamed, questioned, and watched her family slowly consumed by madness. [POV/Rated T for some themes]

**...**

_**MEMENTO**_

_**...  
**_

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**I.**

**A Bedtime Story**

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_August 13, 1951_

The neighborhood was quiet tonight. So quiet that I could hear the crickets chirped and the wind whistled like a soft lullaby in my ears. It was a nice change because I spent most nights lying awake with dogs barking and growling outside our apartment. Sometimes it scares me to listen to them howl because I didn't know if they were angry or terrified at one another in the dark. My daddy once told me that if ever I feel scared, I should think of something happy, something nice and fun. I told him about the family picnic we had in the public beach two weeks ago. I told him about the different colored shells I collected and the sandcastles I built. Daddy nodded and said that I should always think about that whenever the dogs were barking. So I think and think of our family picnic at night to help me go to sleep.

But I don't feel like sleeping right now.

I pushed the blanket away from my chest and I slowly tiptoed across the room towards the window; careful not to wake up anyone in the room. My brothers, Edward and Daniel, were sleeping soundly in their beds now. Daniel was the loudest snorer among the three of us. It was funny to watch his snores grew loud and soft and how his tummy would inflate and deflate to match the rhythm of his breaths. Edward, on the other hand, was quiet but he moves a lot in his bed. Sometimes, I see him sucking his thumbs in his sleep. I haven't told him about that yet but if I did, I bet his face will glow red like a plump tomato. The window was open so I could feel and smell the breeze as it hit my face once more. I looked up at the black sky and saw the stars shone like those pebbles I saw at the beach. There weren't many stars tonight so I tried to count as many as my eyes could see them.

One…

Two…

Three…

I saw three stars in my left. And five more in my right. They glittered and they were really beautiful. I stared down next to the streets. The streetlamps were opened, but it was empty and dead. The houses around us all had there lights off so I couldn't see who was still awake at this time of hour. I rested my chin and elbows on the window frame and sighed. How much longer will it take until daddy comes home?

I counted the stars again and again as I waited. Finally I let out a huge yawn and rubbed my eyes. My arms grew heavier, and my head felt light and fuzzy. My body wanted to sleep so badly now but—no, I have to wait. Daddy promised me a bedtime story. He promised to read me the story of _Goldilocks and the Three Bears _and he said he'll do it tonight. And knowing my dad, he never breaks a promise.

My eyes darted back on the streets, and at the far end I saw a small shadow approaching. My first thought was to wave and yell "Daddy!" but then my heart thumped in full alert. What if it wasn't daddy? What if it was somebody else? Looking at the shadow now, it was tall and lean and wobbling. I quickly ducked from the window, hoping against hopes that the shadow didn't notice me. I closed my eyes and held onto my knees. Then I began to think about the picnic.

I didn't know how long I had my eyes closed but as soon as I heard the faint clicking of the door downstairs, I thought of daddy. He must be home, I said to myself aloud and that thought made me happy. I felt glad and relieved knowing daddy was home. I quickly stood up and grabbed the book lying on my bed. I walked down the stairs and it felt cold to my feet but I tried my best not to make any sound. The kitchen lights were open so he must be there. I peeked at the kitchen and I saw daddy with his head on the sink, the water gushing rapidly on the faucet. He made a choking sound and it made me nervous.

"Daddy?"

He straightened up and turned. His face looked tired and his eyes were red. Daddy must've been really working hard. "Awake, sweetie?" he said. His voice was soft but garbled.

I nodded and approached him. I held my arms open, wanting a hug, and he bent down to return the gesture. He kissed my forehead. I love it every time he does that. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I wanted to wait for you."

"Really? For what?"

I showed him the book. "You promised, right?"

His lips tucked and he bent his head in silence. Then he said, "Some other time, sweetie. Daddy's tired and needs sleep."

My heart sank. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he combed my hair with his fingers then kissed my forehead again. "I promise."

I let out a slight smile then went back to my room. I slept soundly knowing daddy will read me the story of Goldilocks tomorrow night. He promised that. And daddy always keeps his promises.

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**a/n: **Well, that was kinda… short. Anyway, I had a real blast writing this story from a kid's perspective (aww… Rachel needs more hugs and loves and tributes just like his father). I'll be updating the next chapter soon enough so if you like it or find it interesting, the review button is just one click away. Much love and thanks.


	2. War, Guns, and Names

**Disclaimer: **I DO NOT OWN SHUTTER ISLAND (MOVIE/BOOK). I rest my case.

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**II. **

**War, Guns, and Names

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_September 6, 1951_

I was four years old and already I was very curious with the world around me, like _who_ created the sun and skies, and the moon and stars; _what_ do animals dream; _when_ will a seed grow into a tree; _where _does all the water from the ocean come from; _why _do we laugh when we're happy and cry when we're sad. I tried asking my brothers if they knew the answers but they just shrugged, saying that I asked too much _unanswerable_ questions. I tried asking mommy. She answered some of them but they were often confusing and weird. I remembered her saying that animals _only_ dream of what they see around them, so if they see men with masks and guns and bombs, they'll be seeing them over and over again in their dreams. I tried asking daddy these same questions. Of all the people I approached, he was the one who stood differently because he'd usually answer them in the form of stories.

Daddy loved stories. He said he liked puzzles, too, but stories fascinated him more. Edward and Daniel who were usually bored with stories came up to listen every time daddy told his tales in Dachau. He told us how he helped liberate the country from evil men in their uniforms. He told us how he battled together with his comrades-in-arms on gloomy barren fields and emerged, bloodied but victorious. Edward and Daniel were always in awe afterwards. They would cheer and praise and tell daddy that he is the best and bravest father anyone could have in the whole world. They also said that they'll be telling his stories to their classmates in school so as to impress them. Daddy's smiles grew wide listening to them. Then he'd start telling stories about his adventures in Maine, in Ardennes, and in St. Louis.

"What did you do with those bad men in Ardennes?" Daniel asked eagerly.

"Locked 'em up the same thing in Dachau. Make sure none of those suckers ever come out to do bad stuffs again."

"Like cops?" I asked.

"Yup," he nodded and took a sip from his flask. Whatever was inside it must be sweet because daddy carried it most of the time. "A _federal marshal_ cop to be exact."

"Cool!" For a second, I considered becoming a cop and ditch becoming an actress when I grow up.

"But what if one of those suckers escapes?" Edward asked next. He has a wild imagination which he probably got from watching too much cartoons and movies. And a wild imagination tends to leave wild questions in the head. "What will you do, dad?"

"I stop them."

"How?"

"By force."

I didn't get that last line from daddy but it seemed my brothers did. They were nodding their heads and saying "ahh..." in agreement.

"How do you feel doing that… _force _thing?" I asked out of curiosity.

He paused, seemed to be reconsidering the thought then said, "I feel proud of myself because I know I'm doing my country a favor."

"Oh." I stopped for a moment, thinking, then, "Daddy, how did you meet mommy?"

Daddy nearly choked his drink over that question. His face went pinkish as he looked at me. "You want to know _that_?"

"Yup."

My brothers groaned in unison. They think love stories should be avoided like the Plague.

Daddy fisted his hand over his mouth, suppressing a giggle. When I saw the blush on his face disappeared, he began to speak. "I met your mother one night at the Cocoanut Grove. There were lot of singing and dancing goin' around. I was with my friends before she came in," he cocked his head up, gazing at the clouds as they lazily sailed away in the horizon. "I remembered seeing her on the front porch with a violet dress and, god, she was so beautiful."

"What'd you do then?"

"We, ah, danced for a while. Then I took her out for a walk."

I saw Daniel rolled his eyes and muttered the word "boring" under his breath. I elbowed him in annoyance.

"It didn't last long, though. She said she had to go home early so I escorted her to the cab. I asked her name on the way and before she left, she asked for mine. "

"You told her?"

Daddy gave me one of his warm, bright grins and patted my hair. "If I didn't, sweetie, you three wouldn't be here with me right now."

I smiled. "Sounds so much like what happened to _Cinderella, _daddy. But instead of a glass slipper, it was names."

Daddy laughed. A heartily laugh I'd never heard from him before.

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**a/n: **Yet another short chapter updated. Anyway, I'd like to give special thanks to _Voldemort's Spawn_ for the first review and support on this fic. Much love and kudos for you. And as for all you readers out there, thank you very much for sparing time in reading this. I'd love to hear your opinions on how this story is turning out so go ahead and share a review/_constructive_ criticism. Alright, I'm out. See yah guys on the next chappie.


	3. Red

**a/n: **Whoa, this turned out shorter than I expected. Anyway, I decided to write a _filler story_ (no relation to source materials means no spoilers ahead) starring the kids in one of their usual everyday activities. These guys deserve today's spotlight.

**Disclaimer: **I DO NOT OWN SHUTTER ISLAND (MOVIE/BOOK). I have my lawyer ready to testify that.

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**III.**

**Red

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_September 19, 1951_

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon and me and Edward and Daniel were at the kitchen table surrounded with lots of clean sheets of papers and pencils and crayons. Saturday is my favorite part of the week next to Sunday because I get to play with my brothers all day and sometimes mommy and daddy would take us out for a trip downtown. Daddy wasn't home today, though. He said he'll be back at eight or until he had his paperwork done in his office so we stayed in the house together with mom. Mommy was at the couch in the living room, watching television. She was watching two people talked and talked to each another and there were big bold words popping on top of their heads as they spoke. I tried to read the letters aloud from the screen: **P-O-W... **

Mommy saw me before I could even finish it and she immediately gestured me to go play with my brothers instead. I left her and the television still flashing those words.

I am almost done coloring my paper. I admit that my drawing was slightly messier compared to my brothers but I adore it. Daniel drew a gray-colored sky, a bright green tank surrounded by green soldiers, green grasses, blue birds, and a big waving flag of our mother country. He was almost done and he was smiling at his work. I looked at Edward's paper. He drew tall gray buildings and cars and airplanes of different colors. On the highest building, he drew a giant black gorilla holding a banana.

"There. I'm done." Daniel said, his smile growing wider.

"Me too." Edward followed.

Daniel and Edward exchanged glances over their creations. "Mine looks better." Daniel said. Edward didn't seem to approve. "No, mine is."

"It is not."

"It is too."

"It's not."

"It's too."

I stared at them and then continued finishing my paper. Afterwards I said, "I'm done."

Edward and Daniel stopped talking and looked at my paper. Daniel's eyes grew wide as he looked at the house and the tree and the family standing next to the house, smiling and holding their hands together. "It's us!" I added gleefully, pointing at the stick-figured people. "This is daddy. This is mommy. This is you. This is Edward. And this is me—the short one."

"Why all red?" Edward asked. There was curiosity in his voice. "It looks bland. You should've made it more colorful."

"I like it this way."

"Don't you know what the color red means?" Daniel asked me all of a sudden. He had this strange look in his eyes and I felt uncomfortable staring at it.

"What?"

"Red means anger… war… fire… blood," he said. "Lots of scary stuffs are colored in red. You shouldn't color all things like that."

I looked at my drawing for a while. To be honest, I didn't find it scary or bland the way my brothers saw it. In fact, I like red. Red has been my favorite because I've seen many little things in that color that amazed me. Also this was how I imagined my drawing to be like once I finished it, and staring at it now, I felt a flush of satisfaction.

Daniel was still looking at me. He seemed to be waiting for a reply.

'Don't you know what the color red means?' The question still lingered in my head. _Yes I do, brother. _

I smiled at him. My mind was ready to speak. "I drew it red because red _is_ love."

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**a/n: **Now that wasn't so bad, was it? Gah! I gotta stop writing stories with too many symbolisms on it. Anyway, I'm almost on my way to the first turning point of the story so reviews are very much appreciated. Once again, thank you for reading and see you on the next update.


	4. Strangers in the Market

**a/n: **Another freakishly short chapter updated. Anyway, I had this story loosely inspired from a short segment of the book. Kudos for anyone who can figure it out. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I DO NOT OWN SHUT—ah, you get the picture.

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**IV.**

**Strangers in the Market

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_November 22, 1951_

Mommy said that Thanksgiving would be approaching soon so one time I asked her if I could come with her to the market to buy stuffs for the Thanksgiving dinner. She said it was okay but she warned me to always stay by her side, always hold her hand, and never, ever, _EVER _talk to strangers.

We left at six o' clock sharp in the morning. She said it was best to leave early when the sun hasn't risen to its fullest to avoid getting squeezed and pushed by people before they flocked like cattle in the marketplace. I wore my favorite red skirt and shoes. Mommy wore her usual yellow dress with printed flowers all over it. Mommy looked so-so pretty in that dress and daddy always agree. He said he loved her so much and that her dress makes her look like the Greek goddess, Aphrodite. Mommy seemed to love it, too, because she wore that dress a lot of times even in the house.

The marketplace, although was nothing sort of spectacular as many would say, surprisingly triggered my sense of wonder and curiosity. There were a lot of things to see, to hear, to smell, and to touch. I wanted to explore but mommy had her one hand tightly on my wrist, the other on the basket. I decided to let my eyes wander around. I spotted a young skinny boy selling oysters, clams, and shellfishes. His face was greased with sweat but I didn't mind; in fact, he looked kinda cute for his age. I also spotted a chubby woman selling stringed vegetables on my right. She smiled showing her teeth when she saw me looking at her and said, "What a cute little child." I couldn't help but blushed. I wanted to tell her "thank you" but then I remembered what my mommy said so I kept my mouth shut.

Mommy kept quiet even though she was greeted by many "hellos" and "good mornings" by the merchants in the marketplace.

Mommy seemed reluctant to go to the poultry section to buy turkey. I could feel by the way she tightened her grip on my wrist.

"Maybe turkey isn't a good idea to serve this Thanksgiving, don't you think, honey?"

I shook my head. "_We _really want turkey for the Thanksgiving, mommy."

"Oh. Okay."

I noticed her face wrinkled as she nodded.

We crossed the busy poultry aisle to buy turkey. The walkway was small and narrow, and the air around us was stingy on the throat. Mommy must've felt that, too, because her face quickly turned pale. On our way, I saw two big beefy men with aprons walking amongst the crowd. They had their backs on us but I could see they had buckets full of blood-soaked feathers on both of their hands. My hairs stood up violently looking at it but I resist the urge to scream. I didn't want to embarrass mommy in front of many people. Luckily, they disappeared, or perhaps blended in among the sea of vendors and customers. We walked some more and I saw men and women plucking the feathers out of their chickens and turkeys. They did it really, really fast. Looking at the fowls, I noticed how all their eyes and beaks were opened. I wanted to ask mommy why they looked like that but she seemed too distracted by the noises in her surrounding. One man raised his eyebrows upon seeing my mom. He was big and rugged and lean. He had a tattoo of a snake and a skull on his upper left arm and a toothpick dangling in his mouth. His apron was smeared with chicken blood. Judging by his looks, I'm pretty sure he was a butcher.

"Mornin' miss," he greeted. He dropped the cleaver on the chopping board and wiped his hands at the back of his apron. "Beautiful day, ain't it?"

Mom looked at him… and the toothpick and the tattoo and the cleaver and the blood on his apron. She looked at him up and down. Up and down. Then I felt her hand trembled in my wrist.

Mommy told daddy that she didn't buy any turkey that day so daddy was the one who rushed to the market to buy one. He looked irritated during our Thanksgiving dinner.

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**a/n:** So how was it? Yep, I admit, the pacing's kinda slow but do give that little girl, Rachel, a chance to tell her stories. Trust me; this may not look as innocent as the chapter progresses. I'd like to know your thoughts on how this is going so far so reviews are very much appreciated. As for those who reviewed or put this into their favorites (you know who you are), thank you very much. It's your support that fuels my imagination to finish this. Alright, see you on the next update.


	5. The Locked Door

**Disclaimer: **I DO NOT OWN SHUTTER ISLAND (MOVIE/BOOK). I'm just borrowing the characters for a while and I promise I'll return them back just the way they are, insane and all. :)

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**V.**

**The Locked Door

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_December 17, 1951_

Mommy acted stranger and stranger as the days go by. Her shoulders slumped; her hair was always ruffled; and her eyes kept staring distantly into space. She rarely smiled and when she did, it was tight and restricted. When she walked, she did it slowly and sluggishly. When she talked, she did it low and halting. I thought she was sick but she said she was okay.

Mommy never played with us anymore, and she never went out to the market as often as before. She only stayed in the house and she said it suits her just fine.

Mommy seemed to lose interests in her usual activities, too. Every time I saw her cleaning, laundering, ironing, or cooking, her eyes were hollow and bland. Like a ghost. Daniel and Edward noticed it, too. They said that mommy looks and acts like a zombie nowadays.

Mommy always had the television on every morning 'till late in the evening. It was always tuned on the same boring channel about these two people talking and talking to each other with words flashing on top of the screen.

When snow finally hit our neighborhood, me and my brothers played at the streets together with the other neighborhood kids. We had a lot of fun throwing snowballs and building snowmen with each other. When mommy saw us playing one time with the neighbors, she became very upset with us. She forbade us to play with them anymore, saying that they could be Russian soldiers surveying our district.

We woke up one snowy morning to find no breakfast served in the kitchen. It was a strange sight because mommy makes breakfast—usually its eggs, hams, and toast—every seven in the morning. We thought mommy was still sleeping in her room, probably tired from yesterday's chores so Daniel, always the stubborn and adventurous one, suggested that we go out and play with the other kids for the while. I shook my head in reply. I wanted to eat breakfast _first_ before playing with them in the streets.

"C'mon, sis. We can still eat breakfast once she wakes up," Daniel said.

"But I'm hungry and I want to eat now," I said irritatingly. He may be older and taller than me but I'm not afraid of him. "I want to wake up mom."

"But if you wake her up, she'll never let us play with the kids outside. We'll be stuck in the house with nothing fun to do."

"I want to eat! I _want _to eat now!" I repeated. I could feel my stomach grumbling, begging.

Daniel leered at me then looked at Edward. "Okay, whose side are you on?"

Edward looked confused, but in the end he sided with Daniel.

"It's 2-against-1, sis," Daniel said. "That's means we play and you wait. And don't you dare wake up mom now, understood?"

I didn't reply. Daniel saw how pointless it was to continue the argument so he and Edward rushed upstairs to change clothes. They came down wearing their favorite sweaters, scarves, gloves, and snow boots.

"See 'ya!" Daniel said sarcastically and hurriedly went out from the wooden door and into the open air. Looking at them through the frosted window glass, I felt a sting of jealousy crept under my skin. My brothers never looked so happy and alive—like birds that had been caged for a very long time, now eager to flap and soar their wings. I sat on the chair and let my arms and chin rest over the kitchen table.

Somehow deep inside, I really, really wished I said yes.

The clock ticked at 9:30. I rocked my feet back and forth, all the while keeping my ears on high alert for any sound coming from the staircase. Nothing. I let out a deep sigh and looked again at my brothers from the window. They were at the far end of the street together with the other kids, busy building snow forts and cupping snowballs in their palms. My hand touched my tummy and it growled louder than I expected.

To eat or to play? To eat or to—

_That's it! I'm going to wake up mom! _

I went upstairs. Fast. My parents' bedchamber was just adjacent to our room so it was easy to hear whatever noises coming from the inside. I expected to hear mommy's snores echoing from the room but there wasn't a slightest sound to hear but my own breath. I approached the door, my feet creaking on the wood. I held and turned the knob. It was locked.

I knocked lightly and said, "Mommy?"

No response.

I tried again, perhaps a little louder.

"Mommy? Mommy?"

Again, no response.

By the fifth turn and still the same result, my body went cold.

Something is wrong. _Terribly_ wrong. And I fear the worst for mom.

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I ran as fast as I could on the streets, not bothering if I was still in my pajamas. My fingers stung and my face felt like burning in the cold. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as if it was about to explode. But I didn't care. I was confused—too confused and scared—to even care about my well-being. In fact, all I could care about at this moment was to get help.

_Any_ help.

"Hey, what the—" Daniel, who was busily discussing with his teammates about their next plan of attack, nearly screamed at me for stepping and ruining at his drawing on the snow if he didn't notice the tears and the chokes coming out from my face. One of the kids waved his hands and yelled, "Seize fire! Seize fire!" to the other fort and all of them stopped instantly to stare at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Looking at me made him nervous, too.

I struggled to say the words. "M-m-mo-mo-mom… s-shee…"

My eyes and nose and throat hurt so much as I spoke. Daniel embraced me tightly to calm me down. "What's wrong with mom?"

I cried over his warm shoulders. "W-w-wo-won't get out… r-room… I'm s-s-scared… scared…"

The other kids slowly backed away, not wanting to get involved with our situation anymore. As for my brothers, they went completely dazed over the news.

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Never before had I felt this silence to be so frightening and painful. Despite my brothers' constant banging and yelling, "MOM! OPEN THE DOOR!" there was nothing—not even a slightest creak of sound—from the other side of the room to return our pleads. Daniel was angry now. Angry and hungry and tensed. He pounded his hands on the door so hard that it was already turning reddish. Edward stood behind him, his fingers unmoving. Despite the tension hanging heavily in the air, he was the one who kept his cool.

"MOM! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE SO PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR! OPENTHEDOOR!"

"Stop it," Edward said. "If it didn't work the first time, why bother doing it again?"

Daniel stopped and looked at him. "Then what'd you expect us to do? Wait and do nothing until dad comes home, is that it?"

"I didn't say that," Edward shot back. "It's just that… I've been thinking… what if—what if mom just went to the market or, or some place else and—"

"Mom has _all_ her shoes downstairs," his voice was rising and panicking. "The streets are snowed and it's freezing outside. Do you possibly think she'll go out barefooted? She's here. And she's inside—" he pointed accusingly at the door, demanding control over the situation which we were apparently losing. "—this door. This _shithole _of a door!"

"Watch your mouth!" Edward snapped. "Dad won't like that."

"You're not dad! Why do you even care?"

_I don't like this…_

"Shut up! You're not helping anything!"

"No! _You_ shut up! You're the one who's just standing there doing nothing!"

_I really, really don't like this…_

"Stupid!"

"Idiot!"

_Please. Stop…_

"Pig!"

"Jacka—"

"STOP IT!"

I screamed so hard the words pierced my throat. I sulked in a corner with my head on my knees, and salty tears came running down my reddened cheeks. My brothers, who were the only ones I depended at this hour, were arguing and it pained me so much to watch them break each other apart.

I felt so alone. Alone. Afraid. Helpless. In the darkness of my mind, I screamed frantically for daddy. I wished to have him by our side now so we could altogether help mommy.

But…

"DAMN IT ALL!"

Finally, Daniel broke into tears. Edward bit his tongue, holding back his own, but followed shortly after. We cried and cried, and the thought that we couldn't even do anything to open the door made us feel worse.

I tried imagining what daddy would say when he saw us like this.

He'd probably be disappointed...

He'd probably think we were weak...

But no matter how hard we tried to stiffen up, we just couldn't do it. The situation was simply too much for anyone of us to handle.

I never saw daddy cry. He said that crying only makes you less of a man. You don't cry your way to salvation, he once told us in his most _soldier-ish_ tone. Swallow your wails! Heaven and hell won't open in your pity. As if they give a damn about you, either.

Grown-ups rarely cry because they've, well, grown up.

But we're not grown-ups.

We're just kids.

We're just babies.

Still _his_ babies.

I didn't know how long I had been crying or I had been sitting in silence, but I guessed it was already past noon by the time the door clicked open. Mommy came out barefooted, her face airy and carefree. She smiled at us, almost bright and sunny opposite to the cold winter snow drizzling outside.

"Good morning," she said, slightly in singsong. "My, you kids are early today. Hungry?"

We didn't say anything anymore. We simply rushed over to hug her. I hugged her as tight as I could because I missed her warmth. Mommy slowly caressed our hairs and hushed our tears. Then she said to us that she'd be making eggs, hams, and toast so we followed her to the kitchen.

I couldn't help but stare at her wrists. Somehow, it made me wonder why and how mommy got dark scars over it.

Few days past and mommy looked a little better than before, but she still did a lot of weird things, like cutting and collecting newspaper stories, humming the _Duck-and-Cover_ song over and over again, and refusing to go outside even for a walk. I couldn't understand why she was doing this, but it started ever since daddy comes home very late from work and when he does get home, he always smells funny.

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**a/n: **Once again, thank you so much for reading! Though this might sound ridiculous, I did actually feel a bit sad while writing this chapter down. I don't know why but the characters just seem to speak for themselves and I'm left to write and type at their mercy. Weird, huh?

I might be updating a little slower from now on, but I'd appreciate the reviews or constructive feedbacks you can give on this. After all, it's your reviews that keeps my creative juice alive and flowing. Much love and thanks.


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